


Soon

by orphan_account



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amir POV Stiffen the Sinews drabble. </p><p>Bane can't hide his wife away forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whisky (whiskyrunner)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyrunner/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stiffen the Sinews (Summon Up the Blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/622935) by [Whisky (whiskyrunner)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyrunner/pseuds/Whisky). 



> Stiffen the Sinews drabble for my homegrrrrrrrl Whisky, who is genuinely one of the most friendly and loveable people ever and is nice enough to let considerably less talented writers like myself dabble in her universes.  
> Probably best to go read StS before this, because it is the best damn fanfiction I have ever read.
> 
> **Also, Amir refers to the prison women as “she”. John is not technically a prison woman so he is still called “he”.

It’s something of a prison-wide event when a new inmate is lowered down into the pit. Better even than a supply drop, since you never really know what you’re going to get: there are fighters, screamers, men who piss their pants, men who try to scramble back up the rope.  Curses in Farsi, Tamil, Swahili, Spanish; pleas in Turkish, Afrikaans, English, Arabic.

It’s the best entertainment.

This one is lean and lithe, pretty, dark-skinned. Amir can hear him crying before he can even make out his figure silhouetted against the bright sky.  Down, down, like Daniel being lowered into the lion’s den – except this time, there is no God to close the lion’s mouths.  The rope is cut from above and he falls the remainder of the way, landing with a grunt of pain on the hard stone.

 Since Sharmoota’s occupied with his new bitch, this kid’s up for grabs -  and Amir will be damned before he’d let anyone undermine his claim this time.  He pounces immediately before any of the other prison lords try to challenge him, knowing that none of the subordinate men lurking around would dare intervene. Instead, they stand nearby, hands cupping their cocks, waiting like vultures for Amir to bore and toss the boy aside. Amir may have a broken arm, but he’s still among the most feared men down here.

Fucking him from behind, Amir could almost – _almost_ – imagine this is Sharmoota’s wife.

“Scream for me,” Amir growls into his ear, and the boy does, in between pleas for Amir to stop.  His cries echo off the prison stone, reverberating through the pit and falling on pitiless ears.  Amir tugs the boy’s hair so that his neck is twisted at an awkward angle.  His is short like the American’s – he’ll be growing it long now….that is, if he lasts the night.

Amir thrusts viciously enough to elicit another pained cry. He imagines what the American must be thinking, at this very moment, as he sits in the relative safety of Sharmoota’s cell:

_You’re next._

 

 

****

The men were already amassing beneath the pit’s opening, as usual, when they first began to suspect a new prisoner was being lowered down. Even more came out to investigate once it became clear that the man wasn’t a new threat, but grade-a fucking material: young, dark haired, slim and pale. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were wide and terrified and he curled in on himself protectively once he landed on the pit’s floor. Amir’s cock stirred at the thought of how tight he’d be, unclaimed as he was by any other man. There hadn’t been a fresh one in a good long while, and Amir wanted to be the one to taste him first.  It wasn’t just his pretty face and slim hips.  It wasn’t just that being the first to claim a new woman is privilege afforded to only the highest ranking members of the prison hierarchy.  It wasn’t even that Amir has always been keenly attracted to novelty, especially when it comes to his sexual conquests.

It was, above all, his accent: Al-Amrekeyah.

_American._

Amir could see it in his face before the boy even opened his mouth to speak. There was fear in those dark eyes, certainly, but also a certain amount of _indignation_ at being sent to the pit, as though his American citizenship should somehow grant him amnesty from the kind of inhuman punishments inflicted upon the Third World’s hordes. Because Americans are _special._ Americans have _rights_. It made Amir sick.

Worse, when the boy’s gaze skirted nervously over the faces of the circling prisoners, Amir spotted a flash of _pride._ Pride! Enough to look Amir in the eye, as though they were somehow _equals_. Fucking Americans – arrogant and self-righteous, they’re all alike. In that instant, Amir both hated and _craved_ him: he wanted to be the one to humble the brat, to introduce him to the harsh reality of the pit and what it does to little runts like him.  Amir was already imagining what he’d look like with his kohled eyes smudged and runny from tears, mouth red and abused from taking his cock over and over again. He’d make him wear Farah’s old dress so that Amir would only have to lift the skirt’s hem to fuck him, and if he resisted, he’d choke him like a bitch on a leash. Yes. A few nights with Amir and the American brat would never make the mistake of looking a real man in the face again.

He’d intended to stake his claim, right there and then, with the boy’s wrists still bound, amongst the circle of curious onlookers.  Amir will be his first, and he’d make damn sure the boy would never forget it.

If only it weren’t for _al-Sharmoota._

_The monster._

He’d said that he didn’t intend to take him as a slave, but _Sharmoota_ always was cunning, obviously playing some angle that wasn’t yet apparent.  It was enough to give Amir pause; despite his status, Sharmoota never showed much interest in the prison women.  Why now? _Why this one?_  

Something about it did not sit well with Amir. Not that he was afraid of Sharmoota like the other cowards in the pit - make no mistake -  but he _was_ strong enough to have the whole prison constantly pussyfooting around him like some sleeping behemoth.  So, Amir backed off, if only for a little while, until the dust of their skirmish settled enough for him to try again. Amir decided that it didn’t matter _why_ Sharmoota was interested; only _that_ he was interested, and his interest could be Amir’s chance to finally prove to everyone in the pit what a fraud he is.

Meanwhile, the little American hid himself away, nestled in the pit’s crevices like a cockroach, as if he believed he could somehow make everyone forget he’d ever been sent down here just by staying out of sight. Ha! As if they could. Whether he knew it or not, the boy was on the tip of every prisoner’s tongue those first few days; the subject of choice at every fireside.

_Did you see the new kid?_

_American, and pretty too._

_He thinks they’ll come back for him._

_Long legs, like a gazelle._

_He has to come out sometime._

_Don’t bother trying – Bane is interested._

It was tense, as it always is, when there is a new inmate to be incorporated in the prison hierarchy – especially when said arrival is either strong enough to pose a threat or pleasing enough to warm a bed. That tension was what saved the American those first few nights. No one was willing to break the standoff, especially with Sharmoota’s shadow looming over their heads. Cowards, the lot of them.

Amir wasn’t afraid.  He’s not afraid of _anyone._

After deciding that he’d waited long enough, Amir tried again, and this time he would not be stopped. Men were watching, enrapt, as Amir hauled the boy by the hair to the center of the pit where everyone could watch him stake his claim. They knew an attack on the American would be construed as an open challenge to Sharmoota, and this seemed to rile them up more than usual. To cross the _ghul_ was practically unheard of; Amir would be the first to do so in recent memory.  About damn time, too.

The American struggled, as Amir had expected, too proud and stupid to know better. If he wanted to resist, so be it; Amir didn’t particularly care either way.  He’d have to learn one way or another what the pit does to those who refuse to lower themselves before their betters. Such a shame to wreck that pretty face,  but the satisfaction of putting the little brat in his place more than made up for it. It was only when the boy finally surrendered, tears trickling down his bloody cheeks, that Amir deigned to stop. Amir flipped the American over, tugged down his pants, and was greeted by the sight of pure, pale flesh, unmarred and untouched, a blank canvas ready to be marked. Under any other circumstance, he might have taken his time to really make the boy scream, but right now Amir was not interested in savouring the moment. He had to get this done quickly, before there were any more interruptions.

He was beginning to think the ghul won’t show and that his challenge will go uncontested, but he needn’t have worried. Amir was just about to mount the American when he heard that familiar growl, those angry purposeful footsteps that instantly quieted the riotous crowd. The men parted to allow Sharmoota access and Amir stood to his full height, rolling his shoulders back in an easy display of dominance. The promise of sex and blood was drawing more and more prisoners out of their cells, until almost the entire pit was in attendance.

This was it. This was the chance Amir had been waiting for for so long – the chance to show that behind the legend there is nothing but mere flesh. 

Amir’s attack was overeager and sloppy; the anger that had been simmering underneath his skin for so long blinded him and dulled his wits. The broken arm he’d suffered was a mere afterthought compared to the hit to his pride.

 Amir won’t make that mistake again.

Amir will kill that brute – his whore too  - but not before he’s made them both suffer.

 

 *****

Amir may not have been born into the pit, but he was certainly _made_ for the pit.  Two meters of solid muscle, Amir was instantly vaulted to the highest prison caste without much effort on his part. His arrival had sent the prison hierarchy into a tumultuous flux, forcing the other prisoners to shift their alliances to integrate this new alpha male.  Some would even offer their wives’ services to secure his friendship, which Amir gladly accepted, on the condition that their husbands were made to watch.

As much as he misses certain creature comforts of the outside world, down here, Amir is a _lord_. He could rule this place, could amass an army  to command and a harem of women to serve his every need. He could have first selection of the monthly supply drop and the right to claim every new woman, uncontested.

The only thing stopping him is _Bane._

Bane, the loner,  Bane the friendless.  Bane the freak, the disfigured, the ghul, the demon.

_Bane, Bane, Bane._

Ever since Amir was lowered into the pit, he’s been hearing nothing but hushed whispers and seedy gossip about the man. Those stories about Cyrus might have once been based on fact, but by the time Amir hears them they’ve been so exaggerated by overzealous storytellers that all Amir can do is scoff. Frankly, he never knew what was so terrifying about Sharmoota; he’s an ugly brute, yes, and Amir begrudgingly admits he’s a skilled fighter, but Amir is bigger, stronger, more fearsome. By all rights, _Amir_ shouldbe the one to rule this place.

Worse, Sharmoota doesn’t even try to defend his status as top dog  – he just _is_. Nobody questions this, and Sharmoota does nothing to encourage it. Amir had challenged him over and over in those earlier days, trying to force him into a confrontation and finally put an end to all those infantile rumors. But Sharmoota is nothing if not infuriating; not once did he take Amir’s bait, and for some counter-intuitive reason that made him seem all the more invincible. Amir finds it _maddening._

What irks Amir most, however, is that deep down, in the most hidden recesses of his mind, those rumors have taken seed, and prickle at his thoughts every time he considers challenging the brute.  Bad things have a way of happening to those who cross Sharmoota, there is no denying that; if not by his own hand then by some paranormal force in his employ – or so the more ignorant inmates say.

It’s coincidental that Ezra was struck with fever not a day after Sharmoota caught him hanging around the curtained cell.

Purely coincidence that the Belarusian choked to death on the hardtack he was foolish enough to steal from Sharmoota’s stores.

 “You heard what happened to the last man to try to touch his wife? Crushed larynx, can’t swallow anymore.”  Grigori says one night, cupping his throat for emphasis. “Find somewhere else to stick your prick.”

Superstitious idiots, the lot of them.  Sharmoota bleeds just like any man; he eats, fucks, pisses, yet everyone treats him like some kind of djinn. What makes him so damn untouchable?

_He’s just a man._

Now Sharmoota is hiding away a new wife as well as a _real_ woman, that greedy fuck. Every day the American spends outside of Amir’s grasp is a testament to his failure, and it festers in his mind, consuming his thoughts  He won’t let his legacy end with a broken arm and a bruised ego – he won’t.

So Amir is watching, watching, always watching. As far as he can tell, the American is a lazy little fuck, lying in bed most of the day like some indolent housecat. By now, his hole has probably been torn to shreds by Sharmoota’s bull-cock, but that’s hardly an excuse. Amir can’t decide which is worse – that a wife is so blatantly neglecting his domestic duties or that Sharmoota is indulgent enough to let that behaviour slide.  Some of the other wives might take note.

On calmer days, when the mood of the pit is not so tense, Sharmoota sometimes takes his bitch for a walk to visit the older prisoners. For the most part, the American follows dutifully in Sharmoota’s shadow, eyes cast to the ground, unwilling to look anywhere but his master’s heels. A marked difference from that sickening arrogance he’d displayed when he first arrived, yes, although Amir resents that it had been Sharmoota, and not him, who had had the pleasure of breaking him in.

 Amir is just lamenting this fact when it happens –

The two of them are talking, oblivious to their audience. Amir couldn’t tell what Sharmoota had said, but it obviously made his wife bristle enough to spit back an angry retort, daring to look his master in the face while he did so.  It is only for a split second –  if Amir hadn’t already been observing he would have missed it -  Sharmoota quickly boxes him over the ears in reproach. The American clenches his jaw, as if to remind himself to hold his tongue, but his eyes still sear with resentment, the little brat. Not satisfied, Sharmoota leans in close, grabs his wife by the upper arm and with one finger pointed in front of his face issues a warning or a threat or a promise of punishment of some sort. The American’s features soften completely and he curls in on himself.  Sharmoota shakes him once more before letting go. The American does not look up again.

There it was – that flash of pride, not yet snuffed out by Sharmoota’s formidable fists or even more formidable prick. If a woman ever dared to speak to Amir like that – no. None would be so foolish.  Those who offend him have a nasty habit of finding themselves face down in the central pool, bodies mangled beyond recognition.  Amir knows Sharmoota fucks the bitch – he can hear them at night and every so often catches glimpses of them inside his cell  – and _still_ that brat dares to contest his master’s authority. It’s _mind-boggling._

The realization hits Amir like a leaden weight:

_Sharmoota is soft for his woman._

He’s not some undefeatable demon. He’s a just a man – No. Less than a man.  A real man would _never_ let himself be humiliated like that in front of the other prisoners by his bitch, and out in the open no less. Either he can’t control his woman or he doesn’t want to – Amir can’t decide which is worse. It makes Amir seethe with rage.

And when Amir is angry, he wants to _fuck._

The woman doesn’t try to resist when Amir grabs her and pulls her towards the tunnels. She keeps her eyes cast downwards, as she ought, so as not to provoke Amir’s notorious temper.  

_Wise._

She cries out softly when Amir throws her to the ground, but otherwise doesn’t resist when Amir pulls down her pants and aligns himself with her hole.  Not that it would matter if she did; Amir is a man, and she’s in no position to deny him. Without any warning, he growls and fucks into her, eliciting a sob of pain, but the woman isn’t so stupid as to beg for Amir to stop - not that Amir would, anyway.  He comes with one hand fisted in her dark hair and the other at her hip to force her back into an impossible arch.

“Did you enjoy that?” Amir rasps, still buried deep inside.

The woman makes a pathetic whimpering sound. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible.

“Yes, sir.”

Amir pulls out, but doesn’t relinquish his hold on her hair. He immediately sticks two fingers back in the abused hole and scoops out some of his sticky come then holds his fingers to the woman’s lips.

“Of course you did, you greedy little bitch. You’re all alike. Now, be good and show me how much you love it.”

She recoils a little, but Amir twists the hand that’s still fisted in his hair and she can’t go far. “Come, now, girl. You want to keep your teeth don’t you? Or do you want to have all your food chewed for you like Aisha?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, the woman opens her mouth and sucks obediently at Amir’s fingers, taking care to keep her teeth tucked away lest Amir make good on his threat. This part is better than the sex itself.

_This is a woman’s place._

“Good, good girl.” Amir pulls his fingers out, slams her down onto the stone floor and tucks himself away in his pants. It takes a few moments before the woman  is able to stiffly peel herself off the ground into a kneeling position. She smooths out her dress shakily and swipes at her runny face.  Amir dismisses her and she scampers off before Amir changes his mind about letting her keep her teeth.

The following day, when Sharmoota is out visiting the Frenchmen, Amir takes the opportunity to pace outside his cell, keen for a glance at the object of his obsession. The American stops outside the door as though he is on the verge of crossing the threshold, but upon looking up, notices Amir standing not far away, and reconsiders. Amir grips his cock through his pants and smiles darkly: _Soon, bitch._

The American looks away self-consciously and shrinks back into Sharmoota’s cell.

_Soon._


End file.
